


Forgiveness

by Brenda



Series: All Along The Watchtower [3]
Category: Black Hawk Down (2001)
Genre: M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The weight of regret is a heavy burden, but Matt doesn't have to shoulder it alone.  Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1693484">Acceptance</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2004 for Ghani, for her birthday

  
_"So let us not talk falsely now_  
 _The hour's getting late"_  
\-- **Jimi Hendrix**

  
**June 1994**

  
The small town of Pikeville, Kentucky looked like every other small town Matt had ever seen. Driving down the town's main street, he'd passed local diners and pretty, tree-lined sidewalks and bustling neighborhood shops competing with the nearby Wal-Mart. A friendly sort of town, this being the South, where neighbor waved at neighbor on the way to grab a coffee before work or stop for a bit of gossip while running errands. A pretty town, with the snow-capped Appalachian mountains rising majestically in the background, watching over sturdy, lovingly-tended houses and businesses. 

Matt wondered how the hell a guy like Hoot fit into a place like this. 

He found the rambling farm easily – the waitress at the diner had given very precise directions – and spent a minute in his rental car looking at the well-built house and endless fields. Looked like corn was growing, maybe, or...hell, he didn't know, really. If it wasn't cotton, he had no idea. The porch was one of those verandas that wrapped around the house, and the paint looked fresh. Matt tried to picture Hoot with a paintbrush in his hand and couldn't. Tried to picture Hoot growing up in this community, riding his bike with his friends, playing baseball on lazy Saturday afternoons, helping his Dad with the fields or mowing the lawn. Tried to picture Hoot as a schoolboy, in class, running touchdowns, losing his virginity to the head cheerleader. The only image he could see was Hoot in blood-spattered BDUs, M-16 in hand, quietly and efficiently getting the job done. 

Matt walked slowly up the porch steps, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. All of the promises he'd made seemed to echo in the breeze blowing through the grove of maple trees in the side yard. He would see this through. He owed himself that much. 

He knocked politely on the door, scrubbed a hand over his face. He felt so out of place in his dress blues, but it was too late to back down now. He took off his cap, placed it under his arm, tried to control his racing heart. Nervous again, and he had no reason to be. He'd put that night at the base behind him months ago. Never even thought about it. 

Then Hoot answered the door and Matt forgot not to think. 

He tried not to stare, he truly did. Failed, of course, because not staring wasn't really an option around Hoot. It never was. Hoot was still a big guy, but he looked leaner than he'd been in Somalia. Rested. He also had quite the farmer's tan going on beneath a t-shirt that was stretched, emphasizing the muscles of his chest. Matt's eyes dropped lower for just a second, to a pair of faded, almost white cut-offs, to well-toned thighs and tight calves. 

"Matt, what're you doing here?" Hoot looked confused, dark brows furrowing as he held the screen door open with the weight of his body. 

"I, um." All of the carefully rehearsed words Matt had planned to say froze in a locked throat. He was suffocating in his uniform, his shirt collar too tight, fabric of his jacket too heavy. "I shouldn't've come," he rasped. "I'm sorry for disturbing your day." 

He'd taken the first step off the veranda before Hoot reacted. "Matt, wait." Matt half-turned, hat still under his arm. "Just...wait." The door banged shut as Hoot stepped onto the porch. "C'mon. Sit down. You came all this way for a reason." 

Matt dropped on the top step and waited for Hoot to sit next to him. He could hear the television in the background – some baseball game in progress. There was a faint scent of bacon in the air, from breakfast most likely, and it mingled almost pleasantly with the scent of Pine-Sol. Spring cleaning, Matt thought, and wished everything could be as easy as scrubbing dirt away with a brush and detergent. 

"You drove?" Hoot asked, and Matt nodded, squinted as he stared out at his rental car. "How long did it take you?" 

"Seven hours, give or take. Jamie's parents live just outside Indy." Matt rubbed a hand over his face again, loosened his tie a notch. He could still feel the vibrations from the road. 

"Matt." He looked into a pair of warm, concerned eyes. "When's the last time you slept, man?" 

Matt shrugged. "Forty hours, maybe. It's nothing," he said, and felt the grief – and guilt – threaten to swamp him again. "It's nothing." 

He could feel the weight of Hoot's eyes on him. "Why're you here?" 

Good question. "I dunno," Matt answered, stared out at the placid, endless fields. "I just thought it might help." 

"You wanna come inside and talk about it?" 

"No. Not really." The porch was nice. Safer. 

"Alright." Matt could see Hoot nod out of the corner of his eye, glanced up when Hoot stood, big body unfolding gracefully like a cat's. "I'll be right back." 

Matt waited as Hoot disappeared inside. Looked over the fields, took off the restricting jacket, felt the warmth of the sun as the game droned on in the background. Hoot appeared a few minutes later and dropped back next to him. "Here," he said, and pressed a coffee mug – full and steaming hot – into Matt's hands. "Figured you could use it." 

"Turning into Grimesy now?" Matt asked, and the smile felt almost normal. 

"Just don't want you falling asleep on me." Hoot returned the smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. Their knees brushed together companionably. It was nice. Safe, in an odd sort of way. Worlds away from... Well, it was just different, is all. 

Matt look out over the fields again. "Can I ask you something?" 

"Yeah." Slow drawl as Hoot sipped from his own mug. "Yeah, go ahead." 

"Why'd you do it, man? I mean, y'know. Us. Or whatever it was." It'd been bugging him since the night it happened, details etched into his mind like a tattoo. The feel of Hoot's mouth on his, the rough drag of his hands, the warmth and muscle of Hoot's body pressing him into the lockers, then onto the floor when standing had gotten to be too much to handle. 

"Why'd you go see Smith's parents?" 

Matt knit his brows, met Hoot's look with a frown. He cradled the coffee mug, forgotten, in both hands. "Because I promised," he said. 

"And?" 

"And..." He continued frowning, wondered why the fuck they were having this conversation. Hoot had yet to answer his question. "And I hoped it would...ease things. I guess." 

"Ease your mind," Hoot said softly, voice holding none of the practical arrogance that was so much a part of him. 

"Yeah." Something like that, anyway. Matt had no real clue what he'd been thinking, really. Just that he'd needed to do it. 

"And did it? Ease your mind?" 

Matt had no answer. 

Hoot scooted closer, thigh locked tight against his, words soft across the exposed nape of his neck. "Did it ease your conscience to see them? To look them in the eyes and accept responsibility?" 

Matt turned his head, lips practically touching Hoot's. He could smell the faint odor of smoke mixing with coffee on Hoot's breath. "Yeah," he whispered, felt the weight pressing into him again. Responsibility. A much safer word than guilt. "How'd you know?" 

"Just do," Hoot replied. He didn't move. His eyes seemed larger than life this close, brown flecked with gold and green. "I've been there." 

Matt swallowed, resisted the overwhelming urge to drop his head to Hoot's shoulder. To abdicate responsibility and liability. He still wasn't a leader, man, but he was a Ranger. And Rangers didn't run from peril. Ever. "How do you move on?" he asked, lips brushing, ever so slightly, against Hoot's. Kept holding the coffee mug as a ballast. 

Hoot cupped the back of Matt's neck, and Matt felt the warmth clear to his toes. "Is that why you're here?" Hoot asked. 

"Maybe." Another slight brush of lips. "Partially." 

Hoot pulled back, but didn't move his hand. "Why're you here, Matt?" 

And Matt maybe thought he might have an answer to that. It helped that Hoot's fingers were stroking his neck in slow, circular motions. Safety. Refuge in a world that still made no sense most days. "I think you know," Matt whispered. It was easy to close the minute distance between them. Hoot tasted just as he did last time – smoke and coffee and oranges – but without the acrid gunpowder bite. 

Hoot licked his top lip and nodded once when they finally parted. "You wanna come inside now?" he asked. No judgment, no questions. 

Matt smiled, a small curve of lips. Trust Hoot, man. "Yeah," he said. "I think I finally do."

***


End file.
